


ghoulish.

by hardcoreloser



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - Fandom, Killjoys - Fandom, MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, danger days - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, idk what else tag, just here 2 write danger days yooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardcoreloser/pseuds/hardcoreloser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fun ghoul's story from the moment he meets a killjoy for the first time to the moment he dies to protect the girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghoulish.

"What do you think you're doing here?" I didn't even hear him coming. It's almost unbelievable how caught up I got in looking at the van.  
"Can you hear me? I asked, what the hell are you doing?"  
It's been 23 days since I ran away from Battery City with only a backpack full of food and a few things that matter too much to leave behind. And since I left, I haven't been able to find a single other person in this goddamn desert. I've been scavenging buildings that have been scavenged a thousand times other by people more desperate than me and sleeping in remnant wreckage from before the wars, but I won't be for long. You can't live out here alone. Everybody knows that. Fuck, you can barely survive in the Zones even with friends to watch your back.  
Earlier this morning, I'd found these tire tracks in the sand. I followed them until I got here and discovered this big van, like that of a news station, big radar and all. Painted across it were dozens of insignia. I guess I'm still too Battery to get them. I didn't recognize what any of the words or symbols meant. They varied from looking almost professionally stenciled to appearing to have been finger painted on. The largest one read "WKIL ZONE RADIO 109 FMX."  
I was examining the van. It must have just been running, but it was totally empty. So I started snooping. Mostly just to wait until the owner got back. Hoping they'd be nice enough to take me under their wing. I'm kinda starting to doubt that now, though. In fact, I'll be happy if I don't get blasted to bits before the sun falls tonight.  
"Hey- hey, I didn't mean any harm. I didn't touch anything inside," I say, trying to sound calm enough to counteract the fact that my whole body's fucking quaking. I haven't been this scared since the day I ran. I didn't sleep at all that night, worried that they'd send a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W to hunt me down and body bag me.  
I turn my head a little bit to try to get a look at the guy whose van I'd found. Before I can really take notice of anything, he snaps at me.  
"Face the van! Put your hands against the side." I do what he says. What choice do I have? "What do you want? Who the fuck do you think you are?"  
"I'm alone, okay? I just need some help. Please," I answer. He's quiet for a minute.  
"No, no way. I don't trust you. You could be a spy," he says.  
"What? For who?"  
"Wouldn't you be the one to know? Besides, if you are, it's for Better Living. Who else?" he reasons all this out to himself. It seems like he's jumping to conclusions to me. It seems like he's almost more scared than I am. I can feel the blaster twitch in his grip. I'm more worried about him shooting me by accident than on purpose.  
"Come on, man," I groan. He jabs me with the pistol.  
"Shut the fuck up, kid. Get in the van. I'm taking you to the station. Death Defying needs to see you, no matter who you are."  
I ride shotgun next to him. He's driving with one hand and has his hot pink blaster in the other, aimed at me the whole time.The van is well-kept on the driver side. The floor beneath my feet is littered with trash. The back is filled with a collection of weird shit- recording equipment, spare pistols, an empty body bag, and a wheelchair, to name a few. His fingers drum the wheel nervously. He's chewing his lip and his eyes are weirdly wide, like he had way too much coffee that was way too strong. He's pretty young, probably about five but not more than ten years older than me, and handsome. Cropped short brown hair, strong features, leanly muscular. Every once in a while, he glances at me, and his dark brows furrow even tighter for a second before he turns his eyes back to the desert in front of him.  
It's a tense ride. The only sounds are the humming engine and the harsh howling of the wind. After a while, a dot appears on the horizon. As we get closer, it's obvious we must be approaching the station he mentioned before. It's an enchanting combination of rundown and alive. The building is old but has a DIY punk flair. It jives perfectly with the technicolor oddities in the back of the WKIL ZONE van.  
The man kills the engine a few hundred feet from the building and hops out, then comes around to escort me to the station, his pretty pink blaster jammed back into the small of my back. Again. Like there's anywhere I could go.  
A figure emerges from the station. His hair's long, loose, and black, a lot like mine. He's about the age of the man I rode here with, and he's dressed like a pornodroid in a jockstrap, tight leggings, and a crop top. Not to mention the beat-up foam flip flops. He leans in the door frame and stays quiet until we reach him.  
"Yo, Cherri! Got yourself a date?" He smirks.  
"He's an undercover worker for Better Living," Cherri snaps and pushes me into the station. Even in this short exchange, it's obvious that these two have spent plenty of time together- enough to really get on each other's nerves. Or at least, Crop Top gets on Cherri's nerves. Crop Top doesn't seem too affected and just follows us inside, flip flops snapping rhythmically against cement floor.  
"Guess that's alright. He's a little young, anyway."  
It's no cooler inside than it was in the open desert. In fact, the half a dozen running fans seem to barely keep it livable. It's a radio station. Probably for WKIL ZONE RADIO. Cherri leads me into a studio.  
A dark-clothed man sits silently in a wheelchair at a microphone. The recording sign is off.  
"Doctor?" Cherri says. We stay, standing still, close to the door. The man who met us at the front door pushes past us and reclines in a plush vermilion chair. His posture is aloof, but his eyes are bright with curiosity as he watches the three of us, Cherri, the doctor, and I.  
The man in the dark clothes wheels around to face us. He's impressive and intimidating. He's bearded with long, dark hair. I'd guess he's in his early thirties. He wears a bandanna and a vest- I think the kind he wears was called a "cut." Old motorbike gangs used to wear them. They might still, for all I know. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for him to speak. When he does, it's in a deep, melodic voice, rising and falling in that perfect radio show host way.  
"What poor rat did the cat drag in this time, Cola?" A hint of a smile plays on his lips. Like it's a running joke. Maybe Cherri drags dirty, sweaty boys like me to the station all the time and it's just an annoying habit everybody's gotten used to. Maybe they'll brutally murder me, like the authorities in Bat City say the rebels do. Maybe I should've minded my own business and never touched that van. Maybe I should have stayed the fuck home.  
"He's a spy," Cherri states. The doctor nods slowly.  
"Mmhm. And, might I ask, just how do you know that?"  
"I found him skulking around the van, looking inside. He's a gutless thief at best, and an undercover agent for BL/Ind at worst." The doctor and the man in the chair exchange a knowing look. Crop Top hides a shit-eating grin with one gloved hand.  
"Right. Hey, Cola, don't you think you're being a little bit paranoid here?"  
"No! He could be dangerous," he says. But his voice is wavering a little, like he's losing some of his conviction. "Just because I have paranoia doesn't mean I'm not right." Crop Top snorts loudly. The doctor's smiling a little more now.  
"Take a good look at him," he directs calmly. "Does he look dangerous?" Cherri appraises me slowly, taking in every inch of me.  
"You're right," he sighs, sounding defeated. "Kid looks like he's scared shitless."  
"I do not!" I bark, yanking away from him. He lets me go without a fight, and the three men dissolve into laughter. I cross my arms and frown. I don't usually try too hard to impress people, but I don't really care for being made fun of. Plus, I'm a little upset about having to go through all this held-at-gunpoint bullshit.  
The doctor's expression is the first to sober.  
"What's your name, kid?" He asks. I hesitate. I always heard that the rebels chose their own names. I still mostly believe that; I kinda doubt the brunette's birth name is Cherri. But god, I'll feel fucking stupid if I tell them the name I chose and they laugh. I let a couple seconds go before I answer.  
"Fun Ghoul."  
The doctor nods. "I'm Doctor Death Defying. Dr. D is fine, too."  
"I'm Show Pony," the black-haired guy says. "Good to meet 'ya." He winks and I blush stupidly. I hadn't really taken all that much notice of him before, but because of that one, stupid little flirtatious look, I'm probably going to blush again every time he looks at me. Great.  
"I'm Cherri Cola." The brunette offers an almost apologetic smile.  
"How old are you, Ghoul? How long have you been in the Zones?" Doctor Death Defying asks me.  
"I'm fifteen. I left Battery City 23- almost a month ago." For whatever reason, I'm a little self-conscious about the fact that I know how long I've been out here to the day. I feel pretty nervous in general, I guess. I don't really want to get thrown back into the desert on my own.  
"You alone?"  
"Yeah."  
Doctor Death Defying nods again. "We're the Killjoys- Show Pony, Cola, me, and three other guys. They're newer additions."  
I look at him, not quite sure what to say. He looks right back. His expression is thoughtful, and we wait in the quiet for a moment.  
"You know, if you need a place to stay, just as long as you get along with everybody and everybody gets along with you, I'm sure we could accommodate you," he offers. I can feel my face brighten and my heart lift, and I start to thank him, but he stops me. "This isn't a promise, kid- and you'll have to pull your own weight, you know."  
"I will! I- I can, I promise. I can do it. I'll do whatever it takes." I'm tripping over my own tongue trying to agree fast enough.  
"That kind of attitude's dangerous," Cola remarks quietly.  
"Callin' bullshit, Cherri. That do-whatever-it-takes' attitude is just the same mindset that brought you and me and everyone else out here," Show Pony says, smiling at me kindly.  
"Pony's right. His head's in the right place- let's hope his heart is, too." Death Defying looks me dead in the eyes. His gaze is too wise and strong and deep, and holding it makes me nervous. But I kind of feel that I have to. At least to prove to myself that I can. We hold the look for a few seconds before he smiles with closed lips and looks away.  
"Alright," Dr. D says. "We'll wait for the boys to show up so we can introduce them to Fun Ghoul here. No running off- any of you. Show Pony, Cherri Cola- get the boy something to eat; somethin' to drink, too. Feel free to read whatever's laying around. Don't touch anything that looks like somebody could get too mad about you touching." He turns away from us.  
It's obvious that we're dismissed. Pony, Cola, and I walk out of the studio. Cola closes the door behind us. The click seems strangely loud.


End file.
